


Not Quite Human

by fonulyn



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ghost!Derek, M/M, who ends up not being dead at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-10
Updated: 2013-04-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 02:52:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/756145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fonulyn/pseuds/fonulyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In his life, Stiles has been through several heart-stopping ways to wake up. Opening his eyes to a ghost standing by his bed might still top the list.</p>
<p>Until he finds out that the ghost is rather grumpy than scary.</p>
<p>(And Stiles makes a friend.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Quite Human

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nashirah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nashirah/gifts).



> This was written for [a tumblr meme](http://fonulyn.tumblr.com/post/45528917787/drabbles-send-me-characters-and-a-prompt), on a prompt 'haunt me'. Requested shamelessly by yours truly (yes I request things from myself) but it's not my fault, the prompt tempted me (◡‿◡✿) It was supposed to be a drabble, but well, it's really not anymore.
> 
> This was also sort of a writing exercise, each of the 'scenes' is exactly 300 words long, not a word more or less. 
> 
> Plus my first work in this fandom! Eeep. Please be gentle!

.

 

 

 

In his life, Stiles has been through several heart-stopping ways to wake up. It’s not really anything new for him to have nightmares, either, he’s pretty used to those. So he does freak out as he opens his eyes to see a man standing at the foot of his bed, but seconds later he chalks it up to his overly active and still sleep-hazed mind coming up with things. He drops back against the mattress and laughs. “Oh man! It would be so cool to see a ghost.”

“Then open your eyes.”

Stiles will never admit it, to anyone, but that makes him shriek. Like a little girl.

Faster than light, his eyes snap open and he scrambles backwards until he hits the headboard of the bed. If he tries to claw his way through it, backwards, it’s only sensible seeing that the alternative is to have a chat with the friendly neighbourhood ghost currently staring him down.

Also wow, apparently ghosts could be really hot. Stiles’ heart is still going a mile a minute but let it never be said that his curiosity wouldn’t win against any other emotion at hand. He still keeps himself firmly planted as close to the wall as he possibly can, but at the same time studies the ghost’s ethereal form from head to toe. Or, from head to knee, as the bed unfortunately obscures his view further.

The man looks absolutely normal, if a little bit like a member of some biker gang, except for the way he’s almost transparent. It’s impossible to see through him, somehow everything that’s behind him seems just blurry and impossible to focus on, but he’s definitely not as solid as a regular still-alive human being. So Stiles asks the only logical thing possible.

“Can I touch you?”

 

 

 

 

 

It turns out that the ghost does not want Stiles to touch him. It also turns out that the ghost has a name; he is called Derek. Stiles discovers this all in the span of fifteen minutes, trying to coax the gho– Derek into letting him try if he feels as transparent as he looks, but resulting in a more and more exasperated gh– Derek (“ _Stop calling me_ ghostie.”).

Eventually, Stiles simply thrusts his arm through Derek’s chest. The face Derek makes is more than worth it, his eyes going comically wide before he flickers almost out of sight. Otherwise the experience is somewhat disappointing as it doesn’t really feel like anything at all. It’s sort of disturbing, how Stiles feels like he _should_ pull his hand back, but he can’t explain why, he just does.

After that it takes a good while of convincing to make Derek stay. He probably agrees only because apparently Stiles is the only person who can see him, thus far, although Stiles has no idea how he came to that conclusion. Has Derek been going through all the bedrooms in town, waiting for someone to shriek at the sight of his face?

Stiles wouldn’t put it past him.

No amount of questioning brings any new information, though; Derek doesn’t seem to remember anything else besides his name. Not even his full name, either, which leaves the Google searches pretty much useless. Who knew Derek was such a popular name in so many countries?

The next logical step is to ask Stiles’ father, but obviously the Sheriff doesn’t see Derek either. So Stiles draws a picture, gives it a valiant try. His father asks if it’s the incredible Hulk, and Stiles decides his skills leave a lot to be desired.

Time for a new plan.

 

 

 

 

 

Surprisingly, there aren’t that many Dereks in the general area of Beacon Hills. Stiles makes a list of everyone he finds in the phone book, even taking into account the old geezers since well, who knows, maybe ghost-Derek has been dead for a longer while now. There is one who’s barely three years old, and after a moment of consideration he’s crossed off the list.

“What are you going to do?” Derek asks, glaring at Stiles suspiciously. He’s sitting in the office chair, although it looks like he’s floating slightly above the seat instead of resting on it. Stiles tries to avoid looking at him since it’s sort of disturbing.

“I don’t know. Call them, maybe?” he suggests, jotting down notes beside each person on his list. He already has a good bet on one of them, and he’s hoping that it’ll be his Derek.

The plan makes Derek snort. “And tell them what? Hello have you misplaced your soul?” He sighs, making a move like he wants to spin the chair around but his foot simply slips through the desk like there’s nothing there. “Stiles, I’m dead. I’m not going to answer the phone.”

“Then you’ll be the only one who doesn’t answer!” Stiles announces. “See? Awesome plan.”

The first three calls, Stiles pretends to be a pizza delivery guy. The next few he impersonates a bored worker doing a national survey on dog food, and then he moves on to act as the manager of a zoo looking for a lost monkey. It’s getting progressively more difficult to hold down his laughter during the calls, but that’s not even the best part.

It’s how Derek’s lips begin to twitch somewhere in the midst of Stiles’ impersonation of a cranky librarian. Moments later he’s not even hiding it anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

There’s one flaw in the plan. All of the Dereks pick up the phone.

After calling the last one Stiles throws his hands up, huffing in the most theatrical manner he can manage. “So you don’t own a phone! What the hell kind of a caveman _are_ you!?” He purses his lips disapprovingly, chewing on the inside of his cheek as his mind already darts to every possible direction for a new strategy. It can’t be that this is it! He’s so not going to give up yet.

The shrug Derek gives as an answer is almost apologetic. “I don’t know.”

That actually makes Stiles feel bad. Here he’s sitting and whining about everything while Derek has lost his memory, doesn’t know who he is and where he comes from, and to top it all off is possibly _dead_. Yeah Stiles can see how his own problems can be considered minor in comparison. If anything, it makes him even more determined to figure out what’s going on, though.

“Come here,” he says. He shifts on the bed to make room for Derek and pats the empty spot beside himself. Even if a ghost doesn’t get tired of standing around, he’s not going to forget his manners. At least they can keep up some sort of an illusion of normalcy. “We need to sort this out. I know I have brilliant ideas but you can help me by nodding along and praising my intelligence.”

That gains a snort from Derek.

Nevertheless, he gets up and sits on the mattress next to Stiles. It’s strange, as if he’s right there but at the same time not, and it makes Stiles’ hackles curl. He ignores the discomfort, even leans a little bit closer as if to prove he has no problem with it.

 

 

 

 

 

Stiles tries, he truly tries, but his plans tend to …well, not work. Every now and then inspiration hits him and they try out something that pops into his mind but it begins to happen less and less. Derek takes up permanent residence in Stiles’ room, and it doesn’t take long at all for Stiles to learn to sleep with the constant looming presence of his favourite ghost. It’s almost comforting now, all the nightmares losing their edge when he has some actual nightmare material on his side.

After three months of coexisting peacefully, Stiles feels like he’s actually made a friend. Granted, Derek has his gloomy days, when he doesn’t speak a word and generally just sulks at everything around him. Then there are the good days when it feels like they’re just friends hanging out together. Ironically, it’s the good days that make Stiles’ insides twist unpleasantly. He wishes so much he’d get to actually be that, spend time with Derek and reach out and poke his arm when he mocks him.

Or poke his stomach. It looks very inviting. And Stiles is pretty damn sure that it’d look even more inviting in reality, compared to the current see-through state.

Although the need to figure out Derek’s case is always there in the back of their minds, there are days when they manage to ignore it and simply waste time together on nothing. Stiles introduces Derek to the joys of Netflix and they end up marathoning TV series when Stiles can’t sleep. When Stiles’ best friend Scott comes over Derek always steps back but he never goes very far, he’s never stepped out of the Stilinski house.

Before they even notice they’ve slipped into a daily routine. In a way it’s comforting; it makes everything feel almost normal.

 

 

 

 

 

One downside to the current situation is that the Sheriff now thinks his son is mad. Stiles has gotten so comfortable around Derek he keeps taking to him all the time. He’s in the middle of a long rant about his algebra homework when he’s interrupted by his father loudly clearing his throat.

“Uh. Dad,” Stiles spins around, brushes his fingers against the nape of his neck self-consciously. “I’m… talking.”

His father levels him with an unimpressed look.

“It helps me concentrate,” Stiles says, literally the first thing that he can think of. “Also sometimes I’m on Skype. Talking to Scott. Not now, obviously, but sometimes. Now I’m …concentrating.”

“Concentrating,” the Sheriff repeats. He looks distinctly amused, and behind him Derek is grinning openly. “Alright. The dinner is ready in five. Get your monologue done by then.”

As the door closes again, Stiles turns to glare at Derek as menacingly as he can. “Not. A. Word.” He takes a threatening step forward, pointing his finger at Derek as if to emphasize his point. He knows very well that he has no chances intimidating a ghost, but when have such minor details ever stopped him before anyway?

“You owe me so much for putting up with you,” Stiles sighs. He drops face down on his bed and buries his face into the fluffier one of the pillows. “It’s an invasion of privacy. My dad thinks I’m crazy. I haven’t even jerked off _once_ in _three_ months!”

To his surprise, Derek only replies with a good natured “What do you want, then?”

Blowjobs, is what he actually wants to say, but he does realize it wouldn’t be fair to ask for, and he would rather not get laughed straight in his face, anyway. “Burgers.” He decides eventually. “And fries! The curly ones.”

 

 

 

 

 

Stiles likes to think living with Derek has made him immune to surprise scares when someone sneaks up on him. Either he’s wrong, or Scott has somehow managed to perfect his sneaky-skills behind his back, since he seems to be appearing right out of nowhere more often than not. Maybe his new girlfriend has been teaching him things, Stiles thinks, but shuts down that particular train of thought before it gets anywhere inappropriate.

Of course – this is his life – the word _inappropriate_ makes him think more inappropriate thoughts and – surprise – nowadays when his mind dives into the gutter it grabs his own personal ghost along. It should probably be worrying how the center of his fantasies is a _ghost_ , with the whole undead-thing, but he decides it’s not a problem if he doesn’t make it one.

But it _is_ a problem how Scott suddenly clamps a hand on his shoulder and causes him a minor heart attack. “Dude! Come _on_! My heart is fragile and needs good tender care, you can’t just do that!”

“Sorry,” Scott apologizes, actually looking truly sorry. He also looks decidedly amused, though, and he keeps his arm slung around Stiles’ shoulders as they head down the hall. “But I swear, you’re more distracted than I am! It’s like you’re in love or something.”

Stiles’ heart does a weird double-skip, and he’s fairly sure his cheeks are heating up. Not that he’d admit it, no way, never. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve been looking sorta dreamy?” Scott answers, obviously not taking the clue to end the conversation. “A second ago you were almost drooling. _Drooling_ , man.”

The conversation is obviously below Stiles’ level so he ignores that. If he gives Scott a jab in his ribs, it could probably be claimed an accident.

 

 

 

 

 

Scott doesn’t stop needling Stiles about his alleged love-affair, and eventually Stiles has to give up and talk about it. He makes up an elaborate explanation on how he’s not in love, he’s just very tired and distracted by issues that are not even from this world, and if it makes him sound like he’s taking about aliens then so be it.

They’ve passed the glass showcase a million times, and they’ve both seen the trophies and the photos of all the teams throughout the school’s history. As usual, Stiles only gives it a sideways glance, but then something catches his attention. He’s not sure why, but he migrates closer, until he practically yells for Scott to stop.

“Oh my god, the one with the eyebrows who is he!?” He demands, pointing right at one of the pictures. It’s the baseball team from years back, when they won some small tournament, and right there in the midst of all the players is a very familiar stare. Derek looks less pissed off there, but Stiles supposes being dead can do that to a person so he doesn’t judge.

“I need to find out who he is, who am I going to ask?” Stiles rants, still not believing he’s _finally_ a step closer to finding out who Derek is. “I would ask Lydia, she knows everyone, but she won’t talk to me, and who else does know like everyone that ever existed and looked that – ”

“ _Dude_ ,” Scott interrupts. He looks sort of smug, grinning as he shakes his head slowly. “It’s got their names right there. Under the photo.”

Stiles’ eyes fly wide. “Oh.” Indeed, the names are in the exact order the players are standing in formation, and it’s easy to find the only Derek on the list.

_Derek Hale_.

 

 

 

 

 

“I know who you are!” Stiles practically yells as soon as he opens the front door.

For once he’s lucky and his father is at work, instead of witnessing another bout of insanity. So he practically flies into his room, taking the stairs three at a time. It’s a miracle he doesn’t get his neck broken, and he quickly congratulates himself before bursting into his room.

As always, Derek is there, waiting. Stiles likes to say he’s brooding, Derek doesn’t agree (“Stiles, it’s just my face.” “So you have a broody face!”) and they both enjoy the constant squabbling much more than they dare admit. It’s obvious that Derek’s heard Stiles’ announcement, too, judging by the way he’s staring at him.

“I know who you are,” Stiles repeats for good measure, grinning from ear to ear. “I know your full name, I know your address, I know you friggin’ played baseball in high school!” He spreads his arms in a universal sign for _applause please, I am amazing_.

Derek is pleased, Stiles can see it, but all he does is huff theatrically. “Took you long enough.”

“Oh my god!” Stiles laughs, slightly hysterical. They finally made progress, it’s nothing short of a miracle, and it leaves him somewhat shaky. “You are the most demanding ghost I’ve ever met!” If he could, he would totally throw himself right at Derek and hug the life out of him – figuratively speaking.

Now Derek is grinning openly, too. “I’m the _only_ ghost you’ve met.”

They keep poking and prodding at each other verbally as Stiles grabs his keys and leads them both towards his jeep. It’s to cover both their excitement and their nervousness, even if neither of them acknowledges that. There’s no telling what they’ll find out when they finally reach Derek’s house.

 

 

 

 

 

The house is still standing, even if it looks like it might collapse anytime. The whole place has such an eerie vibe to it that if he was alone, Stiles would probably go running in the other direction. Most of the walls are scorched, but the door is miraculously almost intact, barely even creaking when Stiles pushes it open.

In what once must’ve been a living-room they find Derek. He’s lying on the floor, unmoving, looking so familiar and yet so _different_. He’s pale, his skin waxen, dark shadows under his eyes that make it seem like he’s severely ill. He’s so still but he doesn’t look dead, he almost looks like he’s sleeping.

If it weren’t for _the goddamn stake through his heart_ , that is.

Stiles tries to be cool, he really does, but there’s no stopping the question. “Dude! Are you a vampire or something?” One can’t blame him, right, it’s a totally valid assumption. Maybe there’s garlic in here somewhere.

Then again, Derek looks less than amused. “ _No_.”

“Oh, fine,” Stiles huffs, already trying to figure out where to put his feet so he won’t crash through the floorboards as he makes his way across the room. “You should be a lot more sparkly, anyway.”

That might not gain him a laugh, but Derek does look less tense, even mildly amused. As usual in Stiles’ presence.

As soon as Stiles gets close enough he finds out it’s not a stake punched through Derek’s chest, it’s sort of a cylindrical object and it’s placed right above his heart. It seems like it barely pierces his skin, but there’s a strange sort of a glow to it that makes Stiles hesitant to touch.

Who knows what would happen then? He’s not sure it’s a risk he’s willing to take.

 

 

 

 

 

“Stiles, you need to pull it off.” Derek’s standing close enough to Stiles that their shoulders are almost touching. It’s the same there-but-not-there sensation that used to freak Stiles out but now it’s something he draws comfort from. He likes that he can feel Derek close even if they can’t directly touch. He doesn’t know when having Derek close became important to him, but he’s suddenly terrified of losing it.

“I can’t,” Stiles chokes out, backing a step away from Derek’s solid body on the floor. “What if it backfires? What if it _kills you_?”

“Stiles,” Derek speaks slowly, patiently, as if he can make Stiles listen if he focuses hard enough. “I’m as good as dead now. The worst case scenario is that I’ll haunt you forever.”

Stiles can’t stop the disbelieving chuckle. Derek is actually joking, at a moment like this? He’s tempted to answer with something snarky, or punch through Derek’s see-through face, but eventually decides against both options. Instead he kneels down, carefully wraps shaky fingers around the item and pulls.

It makes a squelching sound when it comes off, and Stiles has to hold his breath not to turn around and throw up his breakfast on – through? – the ghost version of Derek. There’s only a round mark left after the stake is gone, like a burn on otherwise even skin.

Derek makes a soft sound behind him, and Stiles spins around only to see him start to vanish. It’s like Derek’s ghost form is flickering, slowly fading out of existence, and Stiles prays that it’s not going to end up in a disaster. When there’s no trace of the ghost left anymore, Stiles turns to stare at the unmoving body on the floorboards.

He thinks his heart almost stops before, finally, Derek’s eyes flutter open.

 

 

 

 

 

A moment later they’re sitting on the scorched porch, side by side, neither looking at the other. Derek has been eerily quiet, even more so than when he was still see-through and ghostly. It must mean there’s some pretty severe shit going on that Stiles isn’t aware of. “So,” he begins eloquently. “You …remember everything?”

The answer is a curt “Yes.” followed by even more silence. It’s so heavy one could cut it with a knife, but when Stiles risks a glance at Derek he mostly looks contemplative. It’s like he’s trying to wrap his mind around everything that went down in these past few months.

There’s still so much to figure out. For example who the hell stuck that weird cylinder on Derek’s chest and turned him into a transparent version of himself. This whole thing is obviously so much bigger, so much beyond anything Stiles could have ever even imagined. Yet he’s not sure if he’s invited along for the ride. For all he knows, Derek wants to take it from here and live in Stiles-less solitude.

It would suck, so much. Stiles wants along for the ride, he wants so much to hold on to whatever it is that’s developing between them. He doesn’t say it, though, but steels himself and shoves his hands in his pockets, preparing to leave. “I guess that’s it? You’re welcome and all. You don’t need to send a thank you card.”

Derek is silent for so long that Stiles already thinks that yeah, rejection incoming. Derek’s actual words take him by surprise. “I owe you dinner.”

If Stiles wasn’t sitting he would probably flail. A little bit. “What?”

“I owe you dinner,” Derek repeats, a hint of a smile dancing on his lips. “Curly fries, you say?”

Stiles can only beam.

 


End file.
